Review of Gene Kiniski: Canadian Wrestling Legend

Professional wrestling has always been about business.
It has evolved from matches in dimly lit carnival tents before a few hundred
curious onlookers to WrestleMania 35, which reportedly drew 82,265 fans to
MetLife Stadium in metropolitan New York on April 7, 2019. The net worth of Vince
McMahon Jr., chairman of World Wrestling Entertainment, rose from $1.7 billion
in 2018 to $3.2 billion in 2019, according to Forbes magazine. In
mid-April, WWE stock was hovering close to $100 per share.

But long before McMahon consolidated his power
and homogenized pro wrestling, jazzing it up with walkup songs, pyrotechnics and
lurid story lines, the business was a hodgepodge of regional territories that
relied on action in the ring. During the 1950s, matches aired nightly on grainy
black-and-white television set. Promoters made their money by putting people in
seats at auditoriums and arenas. The Internet was a pipe dream so wrestlers
could change their roles to suit different territories.

McFarland, 2018.

That was the world Gene Kiniski thrived in.

Billing himself “Canada’s greatest athlete,” the
Alberta native was a former football star, ruggedly built and a no-nonsense performer.
He was perfect for the gritty, workmanlike world of pro wrestling he entered in
1953, with an aggressive style and a sharp wit that set him apart from other
competitors.“(Kiniski) was loud, he was tough, he was scary,” Terry Funk tells
author Steven Verrier. “But he had a heart of gold (and) a tremendous amount of
class.”

Verrier digs deeply into the life of Kiniski in
his latest book, Gene
Kiniski: Canadian Wrestling Legend (McFarland), presenting a
sentimental look at a hard-boiled competitor who was recognized as a world
heavyweight champion by two different organizations — the American Wrestling
Alliance in 1961, and the National Wrestling Alliance from 1966 to 1969.Kiniski
even earned a spot in 2009’s World
Wrestling Entertainment Encyclopedia, acknowledging him as one of the
greatest athletes ever to come out of Canada. While Kiniski’s involvement with
the then-World Wide Wrestling Federation (now WWE) was minimal, he still had
some headline matches against champion Bruno Sammartino.

Verrier, who has written works of short drama, fiction, and nonfiction, grew up watching Kiniski perform on All Star Wrestling, a promotion that originated in British Columbia and was seen on television across Canada. Verrier got the idea to focus on Kiniski during his research for his 2017 book, Professional Wrestling in the Pacific Northwest: A History, 1883 to the Present. He notes that, while Kiniski was a “heel” (bad guy), he proved to be entertaining to a national audience “that was supposed to hate him but found that hard to do.” (p. 5).

The world of 1950s wrestling, author and
University of Tampa journalism professor John Capouya wrote in 2008, was “the
grunt-and-groan game’s golden age” because the flamboyant Gorgeous George was a
sensation on television with his showmanship, feminine robes and masculine
features. Kiniski was the direct opposite, exuding toughness and masculinity.
He also knew how to manipulate television, using his interviews to hype
upcoming matches. Bombast and catchy phrases were important to lure television
viewers to live matches, and Kiniski was an expert. “If Prime Minister (Pierre)
Trudeau and I walked down the street, they’d say ‘The guy with the crewcut is
Kiniski. I don’t know who the other fellow is,’” Kiniski said in a 1978 television interview. “I would have called
him Canada’s Greatest Talker,” longtime friend and wrestling friend/foe Don Leo
Jonathan tells Verrier (p.116).

Kiniski had a crew cut, a gravelly voice and
filled out his 6-foot-4 frame with 270 pounds. His signature move was the
backbreaker. He was the youngest son of Polish immigrants and grew up in
Chipman, Alberta. He spent three semesters at the University of Arizona, where
he played football. He also played professional football for the Edmonton
Eskimos of the Canadian Football League, but Kiniski’s first love was
wrestling. The cauliflower ears and “road map for a face” was evidence of that.

“Pro wrestling is world of unrelated brothers and Italian noblemen from the Bronx,” journalist Frank Jares, whose father wrestled professionally, wrote in 1974. “Every Indian is a chief, every Englishman a lord, every German a Nazi.” Kiniski did not need a gimmick to become a headliner. His aggressive style and antagonism toward the fans earned him plenty of heat.

Verrier’s research takes many forms, including
newspapers, books, websites, telephone interviews, email interviews, digital
archives and even via Facebook messaging. Verrier’s telephone interviews
included former wrestlers Sammartino, Funk, Jonathan and Dennis Stamp. He also
had face-to-face interviews with Kiniski’s sons, Nick and Kelly. Benny Grabow,
a Kiniski friend for nearly seventy years, also added valuable insights.

Verrier also had access to Kiniski’s collection
of newspaper articles and photographs, which add color and context to a storied
career. The difficulty arises when Verrier is unable to document the source of
a story. It is in Kiniski’s scrapbook, but Verrier is left to try and pin down
a date or source. Verrier has to resort to “further identifying information is unavailable” several times in his bibliography. A little more research
might have ferreted out the information, but the sources appear credible.

Reading Verrier’s account of Kiniski’s life is to travel through wrestling history. Kiniski wrestled with or against some of the top names in the business, including Lou Thesz, Verne Gagne, Wilbur Snyder, Dory Funk Sr., Hard Boiled Haggerty, Whipper Watson, Fritz Von Erich, Pat O’Connor, Edouard Carpentier, Bobo Brazil and Killer Kowalski. Kiniski defeated Gagne for the AWA title in 1961 but only held it for 28 days before losing it. He beat Thesz for the NWA title in 1966 and held it for nearly three years before losing it to Dory Funk Jr. in February 1969. “(Kiniski was) one of the hardest-fighting heavyweight champions that wrestling has ever seen,” wrestling commentator Gordon Solie said after the title loss to Funk Jr.

Verrier’s writing is straightforward and clean.
Some of his descriptions of Kiniski’s year-by-year opponents and title shots
might be tedious for non-wrestling fans, but those who are interested in how
grapplers competed and traveled before the Internet age will enjoy it. It was
the era of kayfabe, when wrestlers portrayed
staged events as real, and kept their friendships with other wrestlers —
particularly “enemies” — a secret. It was a squared circle version of omerta, and while wrestlers worked hard
at selling their pain and agony during matches, they mostly did so without
inflicting or receiving actual injuries. “The best wrestlers don’t hurt anyone
for real,” former star Bret Hart said in a 2018 interview with Forbes.

An anecdote Verrier recounts about Kiniski and
Dory Funk Jr. is a prime example. Funk injured his knee during a 1963 battle
royal in British Columbia. He consulted with a doctor, who recommended surgery,
and Funk called promoter Rod Fenton. The promoter suggested Funk call Kiniski before
going under the knife. “I didn’t speak much to Gene, I listened,” Funk wrote on
the WrestleZone website after
Kiniski’s death in April 2010. “(He said) ‘Kid, go to a sporting goods store and buy some tough skin, some
tape, and long wrestling tights. Shave your leg and show up for the show one
hour ahead of time.’ I did what he said.”

Funk was wrestling Kiniski in the main event, and he showed up to
the arena as instructed, sneaking in through the back door, Verrier writes. “Gene was there one hour ahead of schedule,”
Funk wrote in his tribute. “He taped my leg tight as a cast from top to bottom,
then said, ‘Bend it ’til you get a slight tear in the tape by your knee.’ As
Gene left the room, he growled, “OK kid, I will see you in the ring.’ “Gene
Kiniski was there every night that week one hour ahead of schedule to tape my
knee before we wrestled, then we would go into the ring and he would whip the
heck out of me but leave the knee alone,” Funk wrote, adding that Kiniski’s
actions might have saved his pro wrestling career (p. 95).

It’s been said pro wrestlers tell the best stories because of
their many years on the road. That is particularly true with Gene Kiniski, and
Verrier tells a compelling tale based on the Canadian wrestler’s long and
storied career. He writes about action in the ring, but also describes Kiniski’s
youth, his parents and siblings, and his wife and children. Verrier writes
about Kiniski’s tender spot for children, and his compassion when Von Erich
lost one of his young sons. He captures Kiniski’s love for women and guns, and
his work as a co-promoter in the Pacific Northwest.

Pro wrestling may be full of glitz now, but it was grit that
carried the day more than half a century ago. Verrier shows how Kiniski’s true
grit made him a champion inside and outside of the ring.